


Nothing Like You and I

by shokuyoku



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Awkward Cryptids, Cussing, Hunk mention - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 18:17:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10576830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shokuyoku/pseuds/shokuyoku
Summary: "Do you like ribs? Like, from cows? I mean, like, barbecued and stuff?"Keith turns his head slowly, like he doesn't believe his own big floppy ears.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There's a comment about eating meat. It's pretty minor, just thought I'd warn ya. Not trynna take shots at vegetarians or vegans, I know everyone has their food preferences and such.

  
She calls a promise through the clear night sky, luring him out at half past midnight. Lance can't take his eyes off the moon, follows her gelid light through the woods behind his apartment, along the old railroad tracks and, past his better judgement, to a bramble-choked wire fence.

He pauses, hands shaking, to pull a heavy water bottle from his backpack and chug, peering into the forest around him. Vertigo strikes, tricking his too-long legs with the illusion of liquid underfoot. God, his mom would _kill_ him if she knew he waited so long.

"You can do this," he reminds himself.

Flight school is amazing, his life here is amazing... but he still finds himself straining to hear the crash of waves beyond the rustling leaves, to catch the scent of salt. He bites his lip and shoves the bottle back in his bag. Then he pulls out the bolt-cutters and gets to work.

20 minutes and only a few nasty scratches later (but he's like 80% sure he's up on his tetanus shots), he exits a thinning treeline to peer down a rocky slope.

He knew he'd find water here, sure as he can find his own fingers, but this— this is better than he'd hoped. A broad, deep lake the size of a few football fields and not a soul in sight! So what if the creepy abandoned manor looming over the adjacent shore is... well, creepy? Nothing he can't handle. Besides, privacy is kinda the point here. He can't exactly do this in the local pool.

He picks his way down the rocks, grits his teeth against the cold, and strips. The moon breaks over the water into pools of light as soft as seafoam. Lance slips under the surface with the softest sigh. For the first time in months, he feels at home.

 

oOo

 

After a breakneck race around the lake's full circumference (finally, finally _FINALLY_ he gets to let loose, to really breathe!) and skimming the deepest region (lots of slow, crunchy fish), he begins a leisurely exploration of the shore closest to the manor. It's shallow there, the lakebed still clinging to remnants of the day's warmth.

Slowly, he lets his head bob up above the surface. After a quick look to make sure the coast is clear (ha!) he leans back and floats, taking in the moonlight. Lazily, he lifts an arm, watching starlight scatter along strips of aquamarine scales that have bloomed across his forearms, the webbing between his fingers, and his long pretty claws.

Just for the heck of it, he lifts his long, powerful tail to wave with the kind of grace he can never muster when he has legs. Even in the bright moonlight, the amber, indigo, and navy hues seem muted. God, he can barely remember what it looks like in the sunlight anymore.

With a pout, he lets it splash back down. The droplets flash like crystals, pearls and rubies...

Wait, rubies?

Lance swallows. Stares at the shore.

Eyes like liquid fire stare back at him.

 

oOo

 

"SHIT!"  
  
He yelps and dives back under, tail flipping up and out to propel him the hell away from whatever the fuck is waiting onshore. Clothes be damned, he streaks (ha! boy is he fucked) to the farthest shore. Maybe it was just a dog. Maybe it was some hipster urban explorer with a bad case of pinkeye, maybe he has time to shift and run before they can catch up—

When he breaks the surface at the opposite end of the lake, damn it all right straight to hell, _there is a freaking wolf-man_ crouched at the water's edge.

Wild fur bristles with thick-corded muscle. Wiry limbs shift, coiled like spring traps, and teeth- jesus, those teeth! Lance knows his own choppers are nothing to sneeze at when he's like this, but those make Hunk's knife rack look like safety pins.

They're terrifying, but he can't bring himself to look away... to meet those burning eyes again.

" ** _Don't_**. _**Move**_."

The stranger growls.

And holy shit, his voice is probably deeper than whales can dive, raspy and raw. To Lance's credit, it also sounds a little out of breath. He'd gloat if he wasn't too busy _shitting his metaphorical pants._

"Okaaaay," Lance drawls out. "Okay. No moving. Got it."

Lance swallows, shivers, and bites back a sigh. This is so unfair. He was so careful, waited so long! This guy is, what, a werewolf? Surely he gets it?

 _What the hell is your problem, Dog Breath?_ he fumes internally.

**"WHAT?!"**

...maybe not internally. _Fuck it,_ Lance decides. He takes a deep breath through his nose and lifts his head, faces the inferno of the stranger's glare.

"You heard me! What the fuck, dude? I mean, it's the full moon! You can let your hair down but I can't?"

Lance kinda expects to be mauled immediately, but he's already made his peace with the fact that he'll probably die wet, naked, and clinging to the satisfaction of having the last word, so. He's as ready as he's ever going to be. Except, that isn't what happens.

Instead, the werewolf just... tilts his head. Like an adorable, murderous puppy. It's jarringly cute, and Lance is struck by the horrible realization that, for a wolf-man, he is actually _really fucking attractive_. Coal fur streaked with russet chases the pale, bare contours of a proud, stubborn jaw and cheekbones that Lance would kill for.

_At least I'll die with some eye candy._

Dog Breath has apparently taken the time Lance was staring to string together a response, thick brows furrowing with the effort. His mouth moves awkwardly, like he's out of practice.

"But... it's... _mine_."

"What, the whole lake?" Lance huffs, crossing his arms. "You weren't even using it, man! Can't we just... I dunno, share?"

The werewolf rears back, looking absolutely scandalized. It would be comical if it didn't... well, if it didn't sting. Lance feels himself sink chin-deep into the water, trying to hide the hot flush of embarrassment.

"Oh whatever, Dog Breath, it wouldn't be _that_ bad," Lance pouts down at his wavering reflection.

"Keith."

"Huh?"

Lance looks up, but Do- _Keith_ is pointedly looking away. With his head turned, it's easy to see two huge, fluffy ears protruding from an honest-to-god mullet. _This guy is gonna kill me,_ Lance thinks miserably, _one way or another._

"Keith," he tries cautiously. The werewolf looks back at him, frowning slightly... but no longer homicidal. Ha! Another win for his sparkling personality. "Name's Lance."

"Lance," Keith repeats, slow and raspy and wow, who knew hearing a total stranger say his name could turn his brain into a brine pool? Because there's no way Lance would swim right up to the rock ledge Keith was hunched on, plop his elbows down, and grin up at a guy who could rip his throat out in 10 seconds if his brain was in working order.

And yet.

The lycanthrope's eyes grow wide, every inch of him frozen save for a gaze that tracks every motion Lance makes.

"So whaddaya say, Keith?" he wheedles, forging ahead before his common sense can catch up. "Look, think of it as extra security. I'll guard the whole lake for you!"

Keith raises a skeptical brow, frowning.

"You... _guard?_ "

"Of course! You don't think I can? I totally can!" Lance exclaims, tail rearing up to splash his indignation. (He's gets a little... mercurial ...when he shifts.) "I could drown like, 20 sailors, with one eye closed! And one arm tied behind my back!"

His boast is met with a flat stare. Lance sighs. "Aaand I can scream really loud."  
  
Keith shifts slightly, runs a long red tongue across his teeth like he's _hungry_. Adrenaline spikes through Lance, makes his heart race. He's pushing his luck, definitely. Should quit while he's (got a)head.

And _yet_.

"You'll hardly know I'm here," Lance promises.

"Liar."

"Excuse me?!" Lance starts testily, palms slamming onto the rock— but Keith interrupts him.

"I'd know." He's not bragging, is the infuriating part. He says it simply, easily, just stating a fact. Which, okay, Lance has never exactly been _subtle_ , but still. "You're too..."

Keith trails off, jaw working as a look of intense concentration clouds his features. It'd be hilarious if Lance wasn't weirdly invested in the end of that sentence. Too what? Too loud, too smelly? (Too much?) _Well so what if I smell kinda fishy,_ he tells himself _. Beats wet-dog smell any day._

"I'm too what?" Lance demands finally, arms crossing against his chest.

Keith blinks, ears flicking back and flattening slightly.

"Too...shiny," he says finally.

"Shiny?"

"Your scales."

"Oh." Lance blinks, feeling off-kilter. He gets the strange urge to preen, to show off his scales and his colors and maybe sing, just a bit— _Nope nope nope!_  Lance panics, _I refuse to literally die of thirst._ God, he needs to get his head on straight. (Ha!)

Lance pushes away from the rock, lets his gaze fall to the bar of water between them.

"Um, thanks? Keith, listen, if you really don't want me in your... in your territory-"

"Our."

"Huh?"

"Our," Keith repeats, quiet as a secret, settling closer to the water's edge. "Our territory."

His words settle in Lance's chest with unexpected weight. Keith means it, god knows why. All Lance wanted was a safe place to shift, but this— this thing with Keith, this place, _their_ place...  suddenly, he really doesn't want to screw it up. Suddenly, he wants to prove that Keith isn't making a mistake, that Lance is worth his trust. It feels like the weight of the ocean pressing him down, down, down into free fall... and honestly?

It feels kinda like flying.

"Seriously? Thanks, buddy!"

Lance grins at the werewolf's stiff nod. The guy's got a pretty good poker-face, but Lance can see his tail practically vibrating. "Dawn soon," the werewolf sniffs, standing briskly and turning toward the manor. And this is where it should end. But among his many talents— e.g., breathing underwater, being the Best Babysitter™ etc. —Lance possesses the ability to shove his foot in his mouth _without even having feet_.

Exhibit A:

"Do you like ribs? Like, from cows? I mean, like, barbecued and stuff?"

Keith turns his head slowly, like he doesn't believe his own big floppy ears. Bewilderment and rage fight a terrifying war for his features, twist his mouth into a snarl so vicious that his words come out choppy and strained.

" ** _Everybody_**. **_Likes_**. **_Ribs_**."

 _Shit_. Lance swallows hard. _I think I hurt his feelings. Gotta fix this._

"Haha yeah, of course, I mean— It's just— just that I— I ate some of your fish!"

Keith's eyes go wide.

 _Why am I like this?_ Lance sobs inside, while his mouth continues to royally screw him over.

"And I didn't like, ask or pay for them or anything so, I feel bad? A-and I wanna thank you! So, uh, I can bring you ribs? I have this friend, who makes the best ribs ever, seriously. So. It's cool, right? If... if I bring you..."

"Ribs," Keith chuckles.

Lance nods, nose deep in the water to silence his traitorous tongue. A wicked smirk tugs at the corner of Keith's mouth, sharper by far than his fangs. And holy crow, there's that red, red tongue again, laving his teeth like he's ready to eat _now_.

He nearly misses Keith's reply over the sound of his heart trying to self-destruct.

"It's... a date."

 

* * *

 

I need you to watch this [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_WcWHZc8s2I). Sade is a gift.

 

 


End file.
